


Split

by TheInsomniacReader



Series: FFXV One-shots! [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Being Lost, Blood, Doubt, Love, M/M, PTSD, Poor Prompto, Promptis - Freeform, Punishment, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInsomniacReader/pseuds/TheInsomniacReader
Summary: Prompto was saved from Zegnautus Keep after a few days, which to him was a few weeks - or was it months? Years? In the time he was locked up, a familiar man with an accent had been there and tried to break him mentally and succeeded.(I quite literally suck at summaries, but I swear it isn't as bad as this summary).It's very dark so I advise against reading this if you are easily triggered or a little faint of heart.





	Split

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one shot of Prompto at his lowest, trying to get back up with the help of his king.
> 
> HUGE trigger warning. Read at your own risk.

One.  
  
Two.  
  
Three. Normally, three lines would be enough. But not today.  
  
Four.  
  
Five.

 

Five was what it took for him to right his wrong. He messed up - no, he screwed up, in battle. Thanks to him, Noctis now lied in the very bed behind the bathroom door. He could hear his staggered breathing. Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered taking the last mega potion when the last Dualhorn knocked the wind out of him yet again. Thanks to him, Noctis’ wounds had to be stitched and bandaged. It would leave scars that probably wouldn’t disappear completely. He had a concussion too, Ignis had told him. It had been two days since that fight and he couldn’t find the right words to speak for when he’d wake up. Did he even deserve to call himself his best friend?

 

With a hitched breath and tears now finally rolling down his face, he finished his last cut. They were almost parallel, but all different lengths. It was only when the red drops touched his shin, he woke up from his trance. His arms shaking, now realizing he’d gone a little too deep with the last one.

 

He’d pushed himself on his knees, trying to get on his feet to wash away the partially dried up stains off his arms. The floor around him was a mess. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought it to be a crime scene. Rinsing his left arm, not caring about the vastly cold water stinging his wounds and freezing him in the progress - he was satisfied. He knew he deserved to be punished. Just as he was taught. He would be forgiven if he hurt just like his best friend did. He eyed himself in the mirror. Even his freckles paled in the bathroom light with the weight he had lost as well as the amount of blood. It couldn’t kill him, but it certainly weakened him.

 

With one end of the bandage clenched between his teeth, he wrapped the other end around his wrist, not too loose and not too tight. He slid his bandanna back to cover up his punishment. The only object between his secret and his friends. He washed his face and neck, then scrubbed the floor til there were no traces of blood left. He was calm, like he’d been sitting by the ocean all alone. With the wind whispering in his ear and the waves touching his feet on shore. Like he’d been staring at the horizon, seeing nothing but water and the sky. Oh how much he wished they were still in Galdin Quay. When they fished and fished until they caught that one Sea Bass for a cat they found on the bridge. It was an adorable cat and he’d have loved to take them with him. Ignis, though, was completely against it.

 

He left the bathroom and heard soft voices outside the caravan and the sound of a crackling fire. Normally he would’ve joined. Normally he would’ve opened up King’s Knight and wake up sleeping beauty so they could all enjoy a silly competitive game. But not today.

 

The bed creaked under his weight as he tried his best to be quiet in case the guys outside would hear him. They would probably force him to eat again - or to tell him to train more for their upcoming hunts. He felt unnecessary. All he could do was mess up. They didn’t need a screw up like him. Once his full weight was on the bed, he closed his eyes. He’d hoped to fall asleep quickly. He’d been sleeping less and less as he kept being dragged in neverending nightmares. Nightmares that were partially flashbacks. The days and nights he’d spent in captivity was what haunted him the most. He couldn’t remember all that happened, nor how long he was a prisoner. It was mostly shredded pieces of a film that occasionally showed up whenever he’d be asleep. A man who told him that only by punishing yourself, you could be forgiven. That the Astrals would forgive him - maybe even Noctis. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to be saved, because he knew he’d only hurt his friends. That he’d be the crooked puzzle piece that _just_ didn’t fit in well enough. After all, he wasn’t precisely human as he was never born. He didn’t come from Insomnia either. That man from Zegnautus Keep knew about him very well. His past and his thoughts. He tried to help him. He remembered his fancy feathered hat and his long coat. The smiles and deep eyes that showed him the kind of person he really was. Not a clone, not Prompto, but someone who would never belong and would only have a shot in life if he asked for forgiveness from those who he’d hurt.

 

With one last long sigh, he’d finally fallen asleep. His mind began to stir again. Him sitting up, strapped to a chair with his arms raised above his head. The hem of his shirt was filled with holes. Many shots had hit him before he awoke in said position. But a man with red hair and a long coat and treated his wounds. With the soft grasp on his chin, he made him eye the red-haired man. His face was too close for comfort, but he could do nothing but allow it. His heart slowed down, his eyes blank. Exhaustion and pain was all he could feel, he thought. Until a hot breath against his skin made him feel something more. Obedient. The man had spoken something into his cheek, he couldn’t make out what. But it pained him and his heart. For all he knew, he was right. Did he belong?

 

The morning came quicker than the ones before, blinking furiously to rid of the blur he noticed Noctis sitting awake in his bed. The others nowhere to be found. Most likely off training as they’d been doing for the past few days. They needed to be top fit and in shape to protect the future King even better as they believed they had failed him. Or that’s what he thought at least.

 

“Hey.” He managed to say, but Noctis stayed silent. He couldn’t read his best friend. He seemed in pain, but his eyes showed sorrow. It only made the blond feel worse. He chewed his lip and slowly got up and made his way to the future king. He slumped against his bed and stared at Noctis in the corner of his eyes.

 

“... Protect.” Was all he said and it made the blond’s stomach drop. He indeed failed to protect his true best friend. The one who’s smile could light his whole world - who’s smile had faded after the incident, that _he_ caused. He wanted to cry, to scream. To apologize until he couldn’t speak another word. But nothing would make this better, nor make everything alright again. He didn’t deserve Noctis he knew.

 

“... You…” He spoke again and the blond tried to make out what he was trying to say. He turned his head to see his future king with a defeated look on his face. He cleared his throat and tried once more.

 

“You… Protected me.” The blond shook his head, he was just hearing things again, just like that voice in his head from that day. Noctis would never say that - it was a blatant lie. He got on his feet, dragging himself to the door. His breath hitched again, he now had to find the others and tell them Noctis woke up. They’d be able to hear the story from the king’s perspective on how the blond had failed and almost killed him.

 

“You’re hurt.” He stopped in his tracks. Was he hurt? He hadn’t fought any beasts or daemons and he well covered up his self inflicted wounds. He hung his head low and rested his forehead against the tiny blinded window of the caravan door.

 

“You’re in bad shape. I am fine.” He almost whispered back to him. He could hear the ruffling of the sheets behind him, indicating that the king had gotten out of bed. A few groans escaped his lips as he did, but it didn’t stop him from getting closer to the blond.

 

“Prom. I’ve heard you. Every night since the incident. You cried. You-” He silenced himself and closed in on his best friend. Placing his cheek against the blond’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop the tears any longer. His friend’s touch was enough to crush the walls that safely stored the water.

 

“I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk, but I could hear. You protected me, you didn’t fail me. I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t comfort you. I’m truly sorry.” His eyes blurred with tears as he grasped his wrist. He didn’t want to believe any of it. He didn’t deserve those kind words or his touch that he lusted for.

 

“I- I screwed up.” Was all the blond could say, but Noctis gave no reply. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his waist and hummed softly. It was as if he knew the blond was close to a panic attack and tried to calm him down. It seemed to work as his breathing slowed down and relaxed into his touch.

 

“You are still hurting from that place aren’t you? I’m sorry we never cared to ask what happened.” He sighed deeply and buried his face deeper into his friend's shoulder. His left hand slid down his side and rest on his wrist, as if he knew what laid under that bandanna. His breathing picked up again, he was aching for more. Longing for a punishment he’d been hiding so well.

 

“I know you’re hiding something. Let me help you, please. I can… Make the pain go away.” The ever so soft voice had slowly tuned into a familiar deep accent. The right hand that was around his waist crawled his way underneath his shirt, touching his neck with two cold digits. They slid around his throat, squeezing slow and steady until his breathing became shallow and slow and eventually stopped altogether. “Would you accept my lending hand?”

 

His eyes shot open, clawing at his neck, trying to catch his breath. His vision returned and was greeted by a familiar face. A face whose eyes were red and swollen and displayed an air of sorrow and deep pain. A face whose skin was coated in a layer of sweat. His eyes lowered, not wanting to see the damage he caused to his King. It was a dream. His blood loss had made him faint. The bathroom floor was still painted in red. He looked away in shame and disgust until a hand entered his line of sight. He expected scolding or yelling. Even crying or begging. But none of that happened.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He mustered the courage to lift his head once more and was surrounded by hot air quickly after. Noctis’ forehead touched his as he carefully wrapped a towel around his wrist to stop the bleeding. No words were needed.

 

Normally he would open his mouth and contest.

 

Normally he would get up and run away.

 

Normally he would cry.

 

But not today.


End file.
